TMNT: Origins
by Supaflywriterguy
Summary: Three turtles. Born in the sewers of New York, given the names of the great Renaissance masters, and trained in the art of Ninjutsu, Leonardo, Donatello, and Michelangelo have lived underground all their lives, their Master Splinter teaching them that the dangers of the world lie above them. Now, a threat from below may just tear their family apart. (TMNTU Phase 1: Origin, Book 3)
1. 50 Flips

**The Story Thus Far...**

 **Phase 1: Origin  
** _Book 1: Casey Jones  
Book 2: Raphael_

 **And now, enjoy:** _Book 3: TMNT: Origins_

* * *

Despite being the eldest of his brothers, Leonardo had never been the tallest. For a while, when they were very little, Michelangelo had dominated the trio in height. Soon after, Leonardo and the older of his younger brothers, Donatello, had caught up, and for a while they had shared a blissful era of height equality. Of course, nothing gold can stay, and soon, Donatello and Leonardo began to grow, leaving their baby brother Mikey in the dust. At first, they were neck and neck, but Donny soon proved the victor, and gained just a few inches on Leo, much to his dismay. Donatello proved the tallest of the brothers, and Leo was reminded of this every time his eyes wandered past the section of brick where their father had marked their height as they grew.

So it was that today, as Leo was laying down his mat next to his brothers' for their daily meditation, that he felt a little pang of jealousy. As the three of them sat down, cross-legged, their master must have sensed this minor disturbance in the boys mind. The old rat, whose tawny fur was matted with age, and whose black eyes were wise and compassionate, raised a bushy white eyebrow slightly, stroking at the thick, grey fur that grew from his chin.

"Is something the matter, my son?" Splinter asked, his eyes sparkling in Leonardo's direction. The turtle turned his head to either side of him, looking first at Mikey and then Donny. Then, he pointed to himself.

"With me, _Sensei_?" The turtle asked. His father nodded slowly, and Leo shook his head. "Nothing, _Sensei_. Why do you ask?" Splinter waved a gnarled hand gently.

"Nothing truly important," he said. "Always remember, my sons. The slightest ripple in your mind can cause a meditation to quickly change from helpful to harmful. If you are not sound of mind, and heart, then you may end up exhausting yourself, or else find yourself in a state of darkness. A clouded mind…?" He let the last bit hang in the air, awaiting a response.

"Is a ninja's greatest enemy," his three students said in unison. Splinter smiled. It was a lesson he had been teaching his three sons since they had first begun their training in the ancient ninja arts. Before a ninja could master his body, and the combat that came along with it, he must first be sure that his heart was strong, and his mind was clear. This was a lesson he truly believed in, and one that he was glad his pupils remembered.

The old rat drew a long, slender stick from inside of his tattered red robes, and lit one end on the candle that burned quietly beside his resting place. Splinter practised meditation quite often, and it suited him to have a place of comfort to do so in. He knelt upon a mat, worked from straw and cloth and bearing the symbol of a spiralling dragon in the center. Surrounding him were rows and rows of candles, some infused with incense, others simply for light. The room in which he and his four sons sat was unlit, aside from the one candle that burned before Splinter, but soon orange light began to flicker on the walls as he passed the long stick over each candle, lighting them.

Once the candles were burning, Splinter doused the flame on his stick with a taught flick of his wrist, and after letting it smoke for a few seconds, returned it to his pockets. The scent of smoke and wax began to fill the room, which was decorated with tapestries and other decorations Splinter had scavenged from the dumpsters and sewers of New York City. Anything that would make the place seem more like a traditional dojo he kept, and anything else went to his sons, to decorate the rest of their home.

Despite Splinter's best efforts to create a zen atmosphere, the room was spartan and grimy. The red brick walls oozed with the refuse of the sewers that surrounded them, and the candle scent just barely masked the horrible smells that came with it. It could not be ignored that they lived in a sewer, but they made do as well as they could.

Once the candles had burned long enough to fill the room with a hazy, dream-like aroma, Splinter brought his hands to form a diamond in the center of his chest, and nodded for his students to mirror him as he did a few more hand signs. As usual, they followed his actions. For Leonardo, the meditation ritual was calming and natural, like he was born to do it. Donatello had struggled at first, because of how fast his mind worked. Splinter had taught him to slow his thoughts, and to only focus on the here and now. It helped, somewhat, and Donatello coped by focusing deliberately on each step of the exercise, ignoring all other things and performing with zealous accuracy.

Michelangelo was a different story altogether. The youngest of his three brothers, he had difficulty sitting still for long periods of time, let alone doing so in almost utter silence. Every few seconds he would shift his weight, or scratch his cheek. The more he attempted to focus inward, the more he found that outside forces distracted him. As his senses heightened from the stimulating candles and the stillness of the room, instead of relaxation, Mikey found anxiety. He could hear the slightest drip of water from a leaky pipe, the faintest hiss of steam. He squeezed his eyes closed, and focused on his breathing like his master had always told him to do, which led to him breathing loudly. Splinter opened one eye, placing it upon his youngest son.

"Michelangelo," he said in a centered tone. The young turtle opened one eye, and then the other, sitting up a little straighter.

"Yes, Master Splinter?" He asked, nervous that he had done something wrong. More often than not it was he who was criticized for his inability to remain still while meditating. It made Mikey feel stupid. It wasn't his fault; he really did try his hardest.

"I have been training you for fourteen long years," Splinter continued. Michelangelo gulped, sensing a scolding in his near future. Donatello peaked an eye open, obviously enticed by the promise of another lesson for his younger brother. Leonardo remained still as stone, poised in a perfect stance, his breath even. Donatello stole only a single glance at his older brother, and rolled his open eye before returning his gaze to Mikey as Splinter spoke again. "And, after all of this time, I believe I have reached a conclusion." Mikey nodded, staring at his crossed legs and bracing himself.

"Meditation may not be for you," the old rat finished.

"I know, I'm sorry, _Sensei._ Next time, I-" Mikey paused part way through the apology he had recited more times than he could remember. He looked up at Splinter. "Wait… What?"

"It is clear to me that your mind is not meant for meditation," the Master said, with a kind smile. He leaned forward, placing a wrinkly hand on his son's shoulder. Mikey looked at his father, confused, and the old rat continued. "For some, meditation is the key to clearing one's mind. For others… Well, not so much." He gave his pupil's shoulder a gentle squeeze. Donny was watching with both eyes open, now.

"But, _Sensei_ , you said that the only way we can be true ninja is if we have sound thoughts, and control over our minds," he chimed in. Splinter's single ear flicked, and he cast his middle son a sideways glance.

"Indeed it is," he said, with some iron in his voice. Donny's eyes widened. "So, I would recommend that you return to your hand signs." Donny quickly closed his eyes, but not before seeing the slightest hint of a smirk playing across Leo's face. Disgruntled, Donny elbowed his older brother as he did his first hand sign. After a while, though, his anger subsided and his jealousy was replaced with peace as his mind cleared. He understood that Michelangelo was a different case, and there was reason for him to be given an alternative. _Wow_ , he thought, _this meditation stuff really does work_.

"So, _Sensei_ ," Mikey said, still confused. "If I can't meditate, how will I ever become a true ninja?"

"There are many paths in life, my son. The mountain pass is simple for the sure footed goat, but the sea is not one he can traverse. Likewise, you cannot expect a fish to climb a mountain," Splinter said. Mikey blinked, his confusion only growing.

"Am I… the fish?" The young turtle mused. "No, wait, I'm the goat… Right?" Splinter gave a small, comforting laugh that set Mikey's mind a bit at ease.

"In either case, meditation is not your path," the old rat said. Mikey nodded in agreement. "Then tell me, Michelangelo. If meditation does not clear your mind… What does?"

* * *

"And this one is called a kickflip," Mikey said enthusiastically, maneuvering his feet so that the skateboard beneath them spun a full circle length-wise. He stuck the landing, and coasted around the room for a while. The main area of their home was a large expanse of concrete, the center of which was covered by a large blue rug. A few beaten up loveseats and a sofa lived in one corner of the room, all facing a small television. On the opposite end of the room, next to the entrance to Splinter's meditation room, was a metal table that was once probably on somebody's patio, but now served as the family's dinner table. It was surrounded by mismatched chairs, and next to it hummed a refrigerator that was barely alive.

The fridge and television had fallen under Donatello's jurisdiction after a disastrous attempt Splinter once made to fix the latter. Splinter, who was never good with technology, had singed his fur in several places, and given up on the whole affair. Mikey had been desperate, wailing for several hours about how miserable his life would be without cartoons, and soon Donny had grown tired of his brother's complaining. He dug out the manual for the T.V. and, within a matter of minutes, had easily determined the problem and resolved it. It had been unplugged. Since then, everyone entrusted the matters of anything technological to the middle brother. Donny was glad to do it, and soon found himself fascinated with the bits and pieces of how machines worked. In the time he wasn't training or goofing around with his brothers, he would tinker with bits of things that Splinter would occasionally bring back when he went scavenging.

"You are sure that your mind is clear, Michelangelo?" Splinter asked, leaning gently on the smoothed wood staff he used for walking. He watched his son do a few more circles around the room, not entirely ready to place his faith in the strange toy. In response to his question, Mikey pulled off another trick, and slowed to a stop in front of Splinter. The young turtle kicked up his board and tucked it under his arm.

"Totally, _Sensei_ ," he said, a large smile covering his face. Mikey really loved skateboarding; it helped to take his mind off of things. It gave him a simple task to put all of his effort into. Splinter realized that, in these ways, it was very similar to meditation. The old rat nodded, stroking his chin fur a few more times before humming quietly.

"Very well," he said, turning and walking slowly back into his meditation room. "That will be all for your training today, my sons. Enjoy the rest of the day off."

As their father disappeared beyond the ragged curtain that blocked his meditation room from the main chamber, Donny went into another side room: a medium sized area that he had been renovating as a sort of workshop. A makeshift bench and a few tools sat in the center of the room, and littered across a small wooden table were odds and ends that Donny and Splinter had found on their rare scavenging trips through the sewers.

Leonardo, meanwhile, made his way towards the sparring area, the large blue rug. At the moment, the area was occupied by a pair of wooden dummies. The eldest turtle took a deep, calming breath as he approached the first, and then shifted fluidly into a combat stance. After a moment of harnessing his focus and breath, his concentration gave way to a series of rapid palm strikes to the chest of the dummy. The target leaned backwards under the pressure of Leo's attack, and after a few moments Leo paused, breathing sharply. Once he had nearly regained his breath, he shifted back into his stance. He prepared to strike again, and…

"Hey, Leo," his youngest brother's voice slashed through his concentration like a knife through paper. Leo almost physically flinched. He let out his breath in a near-sigh, turning to face Michelangelo. The young turtle was squatting before the fridge, looking at Leo with helpless eyes. _Oh boy, here we go._ Leo thought. "We're out of pizza," Mikey finished.

Leo shrugged his shoulder once, feeling the stiffness of an incomplete workout starting there. He made his way across the rug to a rack of practise weapons; pieces of wood and fiberglass that Splinter had scrounged and fashioned into makeshift poles and swords. The turtle chose his favorite, a smoothed wooden _kitana,_ and gripped it firmly in two hands. Steadying his breath once more, he shifted his feet into a dueling stance. He lifted his hands, and the sword, into an upwards block. Such a position would defend him from a downward cut.

" _Takai!_ " Leo called the name of his defense as he performed it. He swung the weapon diagonally, arcing from above his right shoulder to below his left knee. " _Yoko!_ "

"Leo," Mikey groaned, his voice somewhat muffled. Leo cast a quick glance in his direction. His youngest brother was now laying on his stomach, his head inside of the refrigerator, keeping the door propped open. "Pizza…"

Leo rolled his eyes, continuing his series of blocks and strikes. The technique he was currently rehearsing would, in theory, be used to defend himself against someone who was using a weapon that was longer than his. Splinter had always taught him that, when facing an enemy, it was important to pay attention to the length of his weapon. The longer reach the opposition has, the slower their attacks will be. Finding an opening and moving in close to strike quickly would be the best course of action. Leo's brother Donatello favored the bo staff, a long wooden pole that put a lot of distance between himself and his opponent. During the times that he would spar with Donny, Leo would always keep in mind Splinter's words, and usually found himself victorious.

" _Leo!_ " Mikey nearly shouted across the room. Leo shouted in frustration, throwing his training sword to the ground and spinning on his heel to face Michelangelo, who now had his feet in the fridge, and was looking at Leo upside down.

"What, Mikey?" Leo snapped. Mikey groaned, holding his stomach.

"We're out of pizza, dude!" He complained.

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" Leo asked, recapturing his breath, and along with that, his temper. The edge in his voice dissapeared halfway through the phrase, as the brief moment of meditation calmed his mind. Mikey stood up, and the door of the fridge creaked closed quietly behind him. The youngest turtle made his away over to Leo, looking sheepish, and leaned next to his brother's ear..

"Ask Master Splinter to get more," he whispered. Leo snorted back a laugh.

"Why can't you?" He asked, in a normal voice. Mikey shot a worried look towards the entrance to Splinter's room.

"Cuz he like, just went scavenging two days ago. And he's gonna be all like," Mikey altered his posture to resemble the old rat's, and stroked an imaginary tuft of chin fur. When he spoke, his voice as lower, with a poor attempt at mimicking Splinter's accent. "Michelangelo, did I not just return from da surface, and you have already eaten _all_ of the pizza? Fifty flips!"

"Is that really how I sound?" Came a voice from behind them. Mikey froze, his face turning a paler green, and Leonardo placed his hand into his other palm, giving a small head bow to his father. Splinter shook his head, chuckling under his breath. Mikey didn't move an inch, but listened to each _clack_ of Splinter's walking stick on the concrete as the rat made his way to the television area. There was a quiet groan from the old master as he sat slowly into one of the distressed love seats, and after a brief flash of static, the T.V. came to life.

"Uh, no way, _Sensei,_ I was only joking," Mikey said, finally snapping out of it. Leo grinned, patting his younger brother on the shoulder before picking up his practise sword and going back to his drills, making sure to mutter the calls to himself, instead of shout them. Master Splinter could be quite cranky when he was watching his stories.

"What do you think, Donatello?" Splinter called to the far room. "Will Brenda and Jordan finally get back together?"

"No way," Donatello returned, his voice disembodied from inside of his workshop. Of the three of Splinter's students, only Donny had ever expressed any interest in Magic and My Heart, the soap opera that Splinter watched almost religiously. The show revolved around a group of stage magicians who would fall in (and out) of love too frequently for Mikey and Leo to keep up with. Donny and Splinter, however, seemed to eat up the drama like Mikey ate pizza. "After what happened last week? His show was a disaster!"

"Yes, but the heart wants what the heart wants," Splinter countered. When there was no response, the old rat nodded contentedly, and nestled comfortably as the theme song of the show began to play. Mikey turned to Leonardo and put a finger in his mouth, signalling how gross he thought the show was. Leo breathed a half-laugh, and took a sip of water from a bottle. "Oh, and Michelangelo!" Splinter added, as the last notes of the intro died away.

"Uh, yes, _Sensei?_ " Mikey asked hastily, turning to face his father. The old rat looked over his shoulder, a mischievous sparkle in his black eyes.

"Fifty flips. Now."


	2. Kensei

_**Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait between chapters. The Holiday season really threw me for a loop, and I've been focusing on getting back on track with my schedule. Now, though, I've got some more free time, so I'll be back to doing (hopefully) weekly chapters! Thanks for sticking around, and as always, thank you for reviewing if you want! Now, enjoy the newest chapter!**_

* * *

"Hands off, Mikey," Donatello said, not even looking up from his workbench. His younger brother had been about to pick up a metal ball from one of Donny's many cluttered spaces, and paused just before doing so. With an exaggerated sigh, he retracted his hands, crossing his arms across his chest. Master Splinter had left to scavenge early that morning, leaving Leonardo in charge, as he always did. The eldest brother was meditating, and as the day neared its close, Mikey had grown bored of watching cartoons. These things together meant that there was only one possible thing for the youngest turtle to be doing.

"What about this one? Can I touch it?" Mikey asked, pointing to a rusted ballpeen hammer hanging from an equally rusty nail. Donny glanced up, his purple-lensed goggles amplifying the size of his eyes as he looked at what Mikey was referring to. The goggles had been a particularly lucky find on Splinter's behalf. After careful consideration, Donny gave a small nod to his younger brother. Instantly, Mikey snatched up the tool, and began to swing it wildly in the air, much to Donny's dismay.

"Hey, don't do that- You might break something!" Donny pulled his goggles onto his forehead, and stood quickly to grab Mikey's wrist before he caused any damage to the workshop. "Not that there's much in here worth breaking…" He added as he wrenched the hammer from Mikey's grasp and sat down at his workbench once more. With a sigh, Donatello recalled for the hundredth time that week that none of his "projects" were really anything useful or special. The most functional piece of junk in the scrap heap he called a workshop was probably the power drill that Splinter had brought back from a particularly bountiful scavenging trip a few months ago.

Despite having dexterous hands, and a natural affinity for numbers, Donny didn't actually have any knowledge of machines. He had found a couple dirty instruction booklets for various household appliances, and had read them cover to cover dozens of times each, but they only gave him information on how to fix something. The middle brother had no idea how to make something of his own, and that was what he wanted to do more than anything. Whenever he could, he would turn the T.V. to the Discovery Channel, or something similar, hoping to find a documentary that would give him more fuel for the stove that was his own mind. While Mikey was content watching cartoons, and Leonardo was fulfilled on their ninja training alone, Donny had always craved something more. Knowledge, Splinter had once said, is the strongest weapon. Donatello was a firm believer in that idiom.

"Whatever, Donny, you're no fun either," Michelangelo said, turning dismissively and leaving the workshop. With a resigned sigh, Donny let his face fall onto the workbench.

Leonardo, meanwhile, rose from his cross-legged position in the center of Splinter's room. He quickly snuffed the singular candle that he had been burning, and made his way into the main room of their home. A defeated looking Michelangelo hung lazily off of the back of the couch, giving Leo a halfhearted peace sign as he entered. Leo returned the sign, and approached the rack of training weapons once again. He took hold of his training sword, the wood familiar in his hands, and took a few paces onto the blue sparring mat. After a moment of concentration, he began his drills.

Mikey watched his older brother practice, observing the pristine form he held, and soon was spurred to action. Rolling backwards off of the couch, Mikey scrambled to his feet and walked over to the weapons rack. The young turtle drew a wooden sword similar to Leo's, though a bit smaller to accomodate for his shorter arms, and found a place to stand about arm's width away from his brother. Leonardo glanced at him once, out of the corner of his eye, but did not interrupt his rhythm. Mikey watched intently, clumsily attempting to mirror his brother's movements, and mimicking each shout that Leo gave to signal his move.

At first, Leo simply ignored his youngest brother, focusing entirely on his own bladework. After a few moments of suffering through Mikey's poor form, and more than one accidental blow to his elbow, Leonardo decided to give Michelangelo a few pointers. He walked the young turtle through a few basic steps, knowing that Mikey wouldn't be able to keep up with the advanced blocks and strikes that he himself had been performing. Leo stood back and allowed Mikey to try the movements on his own.

"Elbows straighter," Leo said, watching his brother's feet and hands. A wry smile made its way to Leo's lips. Unlike Leo, who was a natural at swordplay, Mikey found the craft very difficult. There was too much energy built up inside of his small body, and he didn't have the patience required to master the weapon. He stumbled over his own feet, attempting to keep his stance wide, and his back straight, and eventually became frustrated, tossing his weapon to the ground and storming over to the couch.

"Swords are dumb, anyway," Mikey muttered, turning on the T.V. and pouting as he watched a cartoon cat chase around a cartoon mouse. Leo replaced both swords onto the rack before walking over to the couch, wiping sweat from his forehead with a small towel and offering Mikey a second.

"You almost had it, Mikey. A few more hours and you could have gotten that _cada_ down," he said, giving his younger brother a squeeze on the shoulder. Mikey turned to look up at Leo. He really admired his oldest brother. Leo was always the best at the ninja stuff, and Mikey didn't seem capable of doing it as well as he could. A compliment from Leo was a rare treat, and it instantly pulled Mikey from his foul mood. A wide grin stretched across his face.

"Yeah?" He said, making a few karate chopping motions in the air. "I thought so too, I could be as good of a swordsman as you one day, if I really tried." Leo gave a soft chuckle, rubbing the top of his brother's head.

"I'm sure you could, little brother," he said, turning to place his towel in the woven basket they used for dirty rags and cloths. As he did, he noticed Master Splinter at the entrance to their home. The elderly rat had silently arrived, and was pulling off several layers of shawl and peeling back a deep hood from his face. Leo quickly bowed before his father, who in return gave a deep incline of his head.

"Welcome home, Master Splinter," Leo said. Upon hearing this, Donny emerged from his workshop, standing beside Leo to bow before Splinter. Mikey, after a moment, realized with a start that his brother's had each bowed before their father, and hastily found his place on the other side of Leo to offer him a bow as well. Splinter smiled at his sons, and there was a small glint of metal as he stowed a three-pronged object deep in his robes. Donatello noticed, but said nothing. He found it best not to question his father. He was quite a cryptic old rat.

"Good evening, my sons," Splinter said, gesturing to a large red duffle bag beside him. "I come bearing gifts."

Eagerly, Michelangelo ran forward, kneeling down to unzip the bag. Splinter leaned on his staff, his smile lingering. Mikey gave a cheer as he pulled a trio of pizza boxes from the bag, and carried them ceremoniously to Donny, who took a deep sniff.

"Gimme a P!" Mikey cheered.

"P!" Donny answered.

"Gimme an -izza!" Mikey called.

"-izza!" Donny and Leo called back.

"What does that spell?"

" _Pizza!"_ The three turtles cheered in unison. Splinter chuckled as the trio made their way to the small metal table beside the refrigerator, and began to tuck into the meal.

"Now, now, do not eat all of it," the old rat warned. "It is beginning to grow very cold on the surface. I'm afraid my expeditions will become less frequent until warmer weather befalls us."

"Righ', sure thing _se-sei,_ " Mikey said through a mouthful of pizza. Splinter lifted the bag from the ground, and walked over to the table, placing it with a grunt in one of the two remaining seats. He reached a gnarled hand into the bag and produced a long, black bundle, wrapped in cloth. He placed his free hand on Leonardo's shoulder, leading him away from his two feasting brothers. Leonardo's face bore a hybrid emotion of curiosity and nervousness.

"Is something the matter, _sensei?"_ The turtle asked, searching his mentor's face for anything that might betray his intentions. Splinter, in return, slowly began to unravel the dark cloth that surrounded the bundle. After the first few layers, polished brown wood was revealed, small symbols carved into it. Leo knew immediately what his father was presenting to him. As the rest of the cloth fell away, two distinct columns of the well-kept wood showed themselves, and at their peaks were a pair of metal circles, crested with long, leather wrapped handles. Resting in a bed of black cloth were twin swords, two _katana_ of clearly superior make.

"It is time," Splinter said, after allowing Leonardo a few moments to take in the sight of the beautiful weapons. Leo glanced up from them, his green eyes meeting the dark spheres of his Master's.

"Are you sure I'm ready?" Leonardo asked, suddenly anxious. His heart beat inside his chest. This was a moment that he had been waiting for since he had first began his training in the way of _shinobi,_ more than ten years ago. Splinter gave a deep nod, and pushed the swords closer to his son, gesturing for him to take them. Leo took one of the _katana_ by the sheath, and with a slow, deliberate movement, drew the blade hidden within.

The hiss of metal on wood alerted Mikey and Donny, who had been immersed completely in the sensational rollercoaster that was pizza. The two younger brothers looked up simultaneously, as Leonardo inspected the sword that he now held in one hand. The blade of the _katana_ was shined so that it reflected everything around it into a sliver of steel. Leo's eye met its reflection, the two bright green irises flickering as they took each other in.

"Woah…" breathed Mikey. Donny, without turning his gaze from the beautiful weapon, covered his younger brother's mouth with a green-brown hand.

" _Sensei,_ I don't know what to-" Leo began, finally turning away from the sword. However, Splinter only held up a hand for silence. The old rat took the sheath of the weapon from his son, and waved his hand forward gently.

"Well, don't just stand there. Swords are made to be swung, not stared at!" He said, a sparkle coming to his wizened eyes. Leo, with a moment's hesitation, nodded, stepping away from his father and onto the blue training mat, weathered from years of practise from the three growing turtles. He stood, bending his knees and resting on the balls of his feet, as he had done so many times before. The familiar stance gave him some confidence, but he found that the real sword weighed more than the wooden blade he had practised with. The eldest turtle closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

" _Takai!_ " he exclaimed, shifting his entire body so that his blade was before him, protecting him from an attack from a phantom combatant. He did so with caution, fearing that he may cut himself with the razor's edge of the sword. Splinter tilted his head up slightly, noticing the slower pace that Leonardo was moving at.

"Do not be afraid of the _katana_ , Leonardo," he said wisely. "Respect your weapon, but never fear it. So long as you maintain control, and confidence, it will never betray you."

Leo nodded, the words piercing his concentration like a bee sting. It was rare for the eldest brother to receive criticism from their Master. He took a few calming breaths before continuing his routine of blocks and strikes, with a bit more speed than before. The _katana_ sliced through the air far faster than the clunky wooden training sword. It was a weapon made for speed and precision, and the air did little to slow it. More than once, Leonardo found himself over-swinging, to compensate for a wind resistance that did not exist. Splinter watched silently, noting all of the changes to his son that he had suspected to see.

" _Yoko!_ " Leonardo shouted, starting to get into a rhythm. Once he had grown used to the weight and dynamic that this new weapon presented, he was able to find his confidence and pace that he was accustomed to, fluidly moving from strikes to blocks, calling out each move as he performed them. High block, side block, forward lunge, downwards slash, side slash-.

There was a _clang!_ Steel met steel, and Leonardo blinked. His weapon has been stopped in mid-air. Before him, his walking stick tossed aside, was Master Splinter. In one wrinkled hand he held the other _kitana,_ the brother to Leonardo's own sword. The _sensei_ gave his pupil a level gaze, and gestured with towards himself with his free hand.

"Come, my student," Splinter said, something akin to a smile ghosting his rodent features. "Show me what you can do."

"Ooh, this is gonna be good," said Mikey. However, from behind Donny's hand, it sounded like muffled nonsense. Donatello ignored the youngest turtle, fixated on the duel that was set to take place.

Leo shifted back, withdrawing his blade from his Master's. He held his sword defensively, looking for an area on his Master to strike. Splinter, meanwhile, held his sword at his side, seemingly unable to be bothered with an defensive position, but his eyes were keen and focused. Leo, with a sigh, realized that he stood no chance of winning this duel, and struck. A quick slash from the side opposite of Splinter's sword.

The reaction was barely visible. A flick of Splinter's wrist and a metallic sound as the two weapons once again clashed, Splinter's stance having barely shifted. He had moved his sword across his body to deflect Leonardo's attack. The old rat hummed to himself, and clicked his tongue.

"I expected more, my son," he said. Leo gulped. "Now, allow me."

With no further warning, the deadly steel snake that was Splinter's _katana_ danced its way around Leo's own blade, lunging directly towards the throat of the young turtle. With a panicked swipe, Leo barely batted away the sword with his own, his heart leaping into his mouth as he did so. Splinter grunted, this time delivering a series of slashes, from each side, and once from above. Leo's sword, grasped in both hands, moved as quickly as he could make it, barely stopping half of the strikes. The ones that made it through gave Leo a sharp rap on his shoulder or wrist, at which he winced. The speed and strength behind Splinter's one handed attacks far exceeded all of Leo's might with both hands, and within a few seconds, Splinter had twisted the _katana_ from Leonardo's hand, sending it spiraling through the air. A short hop later, and Splinter was holding both swords to Leonardo's neck.

Leo dropped to his knees, bowing his head to his _sensei._ Mikey chuckled, and Donatello elbowed him in the side, abruptly ceasing the laughter.

"Do not be discouraged, my son," Splinter said, sheathing the two swords before offering Leonardo a hand up. The young student took it, and was pulled to his feet. "There are less than three swordsmen on this planet who have bested me in a duel. For your first time wielding a true sword, this was quite impressive. You have only seen fifteen years. You will make a great swordsman yet."

Leo sighed, his gaze stuck to the floor. The defeat had put his world into perspective. All these years of training, only to realize it had been a precursor to the _real_ training that he would be put through. Splinter handed the two sheathed _katana_ to his son, who took them without a word. The old rat smiled at him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Defeat is not shameful, Leonardo," he said. The two met gazes, and Splinter's smile soon broke Leonardo's gloom. "It is how we learn."

" _Hai, sensei,_ " Leonardo said. The two of them bowed to one another, before Splinter turned to his other two sons, who were still watching intently. Michelangelo had a massive grin on his face, and Donatello was clearly wanting to ask a question, shifting his weight from side to side.

"Yes, my son?" Splinter finally asked.

"Master, are we going to get swords too?" Donatello asked, the question nearly exploding out of him. Mikey's eyes widened, the prospect having just donned on him.

"Ooh, yeah, can we? Can we can we?" He asked, with all the excitement of a thirteen year old. Splinter smiled.

"Perhaps," he said, grunting as he bent over to retrieve his discarded walking stick. He leaned on it heavily, and began to walk towards the dining table. "Every _shinobi_ must learn the way of every weapon in the ninja arsenal, but each of you must also find your _kensei,_ your signature weapon. A further expression of yourself, your training, and your mind. Your _kensei_ maybe the _katana,_ as your brother's is, or it may be something entirely different. We shall see. Now, I am famished. Let me get a slice of this-" He lifted a pizza box, and found it entirely empty. With a growl, he turned to Michelangelo.

"Woah, _sensei,_ like, it's not my fault. I think you ordered a Ninja Pizza or something," the youngest brother said. Splinter squinted at him.

"Ninja… Pizza?" He asked. Mikey nodded.

"Yeah. Pizza that vanish quickly, without trace," he said, imitating their Master's accent. Donny and Leo made eye contact, holding back a laugh. Splinter hummed.

"I see. Well, my mistake," he said, moving towards his room. "In that case, the three of you will have to clean the entire lair, top to bottom, until you find this… 'Ninja Pizza'." He said, a hint of smugness in his voice. Mikey gulped, turning to his brothers, who were now looking at him hostily.

"Hey, uh, c'mon guys... We can talk this out…" He said, holding up his hands.

"Guys?"


	3. Into Shadow

That night, Splinter slept fitfully. Curled into a ball beneath his woolen blanket, he tossed and turned, shaking from whatever terror gripped his dreams. The water in the sewers rushed, a constant hum of power that flowed ever on. Above, a subway train rattled past, the heavy thrum of its wheels on the track adding to the unceasing sounds that always perforated the small family's sanctuary.

Splinter's journey to this relative safety had been difficult, tiresome, and long. His sons and students, the three turtles who slept in the room beside his own, had no idea of the hardships their father and mentor had endured to give them the shelter that was their underground lair. Through journey's impossible, and challenges innumerable, he had clawed his way through adversity, and scratched out a living for the ones he loved. It was the memories of those long years that haunted his sleep, that night. Memories from long before he had been called Splinter.

The old rat's slumber was broken abruptly, as an unfamiliar sound reached his solitary rodent ear. By his internal clock, Splinter figured it was still the small hours of the morning, though this deep underground it was hard to be sure. His single ear twitched, his mind now fully awake, as the sound repeated itself. At first, it seemed like a low humming, but as he closed his eyes and extended his senses beyond their natural capability, he heard the intrusion for what it was.

Voices.

Without delay, Splinter rose, the weariness in his old bones present, but unimportant. He donned his long cloak and deep hood, lifting his staff in one hand as he moved, silent and wraith-like, out of the lair. He made sure his features were well hidden inside the shadows of his cowl, and stuck close to the natural darkness that clung to the sides of the walls of the sewers. The voices grew clearer as he approached the source. As he began to make out the words, Splinter's heart skipped a beat. He ceased movement.

The voices (there were three) spoke in a language that Splinter had not heard spoken aloud in a very long time, aside from a few phrases during training, and certainly not with this dialect.

"/Why would Shinzo be down here?/" One voice, a deep feminine, asked, in Japanese. The people were walking parallel to Splinter, and he crouched, back to a wall, stealing his breath so that it was inaudible. His large ear turned slowly, following the small group. The second voice was higher, and carried a heavy weight of authority. The leader, Splinter deduced.

"/I don't think that he is,/" he said, "/but we must exhaust every option. Lady Karai has given us orders./"

The party may have talked more, but before they could, a new sound broke the relative quiet. A foreign sound, akin to hundreds of raindrops landing on a rooftop. The sound struck a faint memory in Splinter's mind, but he shook his head, furrowing his brow. The raindrop sound echoed through the sewer tunnels around them, sending chills down the necks of both Splinter and the unknowing trio of people who stood just a few feet away.

"/Perhaps we have looked as well as we could,/" the final voice said, a slight layer of annoyance seeping into his words. The agreement must have been silent, as there were no more words. For one with less honed senses than Splinter's, the trio's exit would have gone unnoticed. Splinter, however, made out the faintest pitter-patter of padded feet on damp concrete. The near-silence of their movements concerned Splinter deeply.

The old Master waited a few moments longer, to be sure that none of the unlikely group had stayed behind to catch any followers, and then quickly and quietly ghosted back down the maze of tunnels that led to his home. He made his way back with purpose, though his mind was deeply troubled by everything that the previous events told him.

As Splinter entered the lair, hanging up his cloak and hood, he began muttering a quiet mantra to himself. His long, wrinkled hands worked symbols, lightning fast, fingers interlacing and then parting, palms finding purchase on one another, until the mantra was complete, and with a final syllable uttered, each and every candle that had rested dormant in Splinter's room flickered to life, the gentle flames dancing in the darkness. The old rat grunted as his weary joints thanked him for finding a seated position on his many cushions, and crossed his legs, his staff laid to the side for the time being. He closed his eyes, breathing in the air that was slowly being filled with the thought-focusing smoke of his candles, and began to meditate, deeply, on what to do next.

* * *

Leonardo woke up, to his annoyance, at the sound of the television crackling to life. The eldest turtle frowned deeply, turning over onto his side and covering his head with his pillow, trying to shield his ears from what he new was inevitable.

"There's no use fighting it Leo," grumbled Donatello, whose voice was muffled beneath his own pillow. "It's Saturday."

Saturdays, as everyone turtle and rat in the small family knew, were Michelangelo's favorite day of the week. The youngest turtle's affection for the day stemmed from one thing: Saturday morning cartoons. While Mikey could tune into a variety of channels for cartoons, thanks to Donatello scrounging a spare antennae and connecting it to the fossil-like device they used for television, but on Saturday mornings, all of his favorites would come on.

To the two older brother's dismay, this week was a particularly special Saturday. Mikey had gone on about it for a few days now, which they would have known if they hadn't learned to tune out the majority of what their little brother told them at this point. This Saturday, there was a marathon of Mikey's absolute favorite comic-book-turned-cartoon, Silver Sentry. Silver Sentry was Mikey's favorite superhero, _ever,_ and he couldn't have cared less about the unison groans that came from his brothers as the theme music for the show came on for the first of many times that morning.

Eventually, Leo and Donny gave up on any far-fetched ideas they had of sleeping in, and rose like a pair of zombies, shambling their way to the makeshift kitchen. Mikey had, graciously, left out the milk and cereal, so the two of them each poured a bowl and began to chew groggily, staring off into space as their bodies took the time needed to fully wake up. All the while, Mikey cheered and groaned as the outlandish and heroic exploits of Silver Sentry raged on.

After finishing his cereal, Leonardo withdrew to their room, retrieving his _katana._ He brought the pair of weapons to the main room, and knelt. He had kept them meticulously placed beneath his cot, and now drew one, inspecting the blade. There were a few knicks from his spar with Master Splinter the day previous, but the blade still shone brightly in the low light of their home. From a pouch at his side, Leonardo drew a small whetstone, and began running it slowly and deliberately down the side of the blade, sharpening out each small kink in the smooth, deadly curve of the sword.

While he did so, he began to look more closely at the weapon. It was of beautiful make, it's blade long and curved, one end sharp and the other dull. The handle was wrapped tightly in leather, in a criss-crossing pattern that helped insure against unraveling. The _katana,_ he remembered from wielding it the day previous, while heavy, was balanced and manageable, once he had adjusted to it. WIth more training, his muscles would grow to swing the swords as evenly and effortlessly as he had once swung his wooden training sword.

Leo glanced at the rack of training weapons. Compared to the metallic death that he held in his hands, they seemed like children's play things. The weapon in his hands could take a man's life with a single stroke; an act the eldest turtle wished he would never have to commit. Leonardo believed in his father's teachings of peace, and that violence should only be used in defence of himself or those he loved. He glanced at his brothers. Donatello was engrossed in a textbook on Physics that had washed up in the drain, and Mikey was still watching Silver Sentry, his mouth wide open.

 _Yes,_ he decided, _I would kill for them._

After sharpening away each notch in his _katana,_ he sheathed them both, and slung both sheaths over his shoulder, for easy access. The motion was fluid, but the extra weight on his shell was unfamiliar, and for a moment uncomfortable. It took a few minutes for Leo to grow used to it. He went to ask Donatello a question, when he caught a brief movement across the room. He turned, and watched his Master Splinter emerge from the curtain that covered the entrance to the old rat's quarters. Leonardo quickly moved to stand in front of Splinter, placing his hands together and bowing deeply.

"Good morning, Master Splinter," he said. Donatello glanced up from his book, noticed what was going on, and followed suit. Once again, Michelangelo was the last to catch on. It wasn't until Splinter cleared his throat sternly that Mikey hastily turned off the television and joined his brothers before their father. Splinter leaned on his staff, looking at each of his sons one at a time.

"Good morning, my students," he said. Internally, the two younger turtles groaned. Whenever Splinter addressed them as his students, rather than his sons, it usually meant that they were in for some intense ninja training. Leo, however, relished in this fact, and awaited further instruction eagerly.

"As you know, one of the greatest tools in a ninja's arsenal is stealth. The ability to move, silently and undetected, allows you to gain knowledge of your enemy without ever having to confront him, and… Donatello?" Splinter turned to him expectantly.

"Knowledge is the strongest weapon," the turtle responded diligently. Splinter gave a satisfied nod before continuing.

"Precisely. When you know more than your enemy thinks you know, you gain the element of surprise: something that can turn the tides of any engagement," the old Master stroked at his tufts of chin fur meaningfully. "Today, I will see just how much you have learned from your training thus far."

Splinter reached into the deep pockets of his worn robes, and from within drew a trio of leather bands. Attached to each band was a small, metal ball. As Splinter held them, the balls jingled slightly, revealing them to be bells. He proceeded to wrap one band around each of the brothers' wrists. Mikey gulped as his band was secured.

"Each of you is now wearing a bell. You will hide yourselves somewhere in the sewer, and attempt to take me by surprise as I take my morning walk," he said. Donny caught a hint of mirth in the old rat's voice, as he hobbled over to the kitchen, and placed an old teapot over a small, gas-burning stove. The water in it was hardly clean, but it was the best they could manage, and had already been boiled several times.

"You have until my tea has finished brewing to find your hiding spots," Splinter said, grunting quietly as he took his seat by the stove. "I advise that you move quickly."

* * *

Michelangelo was panicking. His brothers had darted off; disappearing into the long shadows that swallowed the sewer tunnels, and leaving him behind. Now he was dashing through the tunnels, his heart racing. In exercises like this, Splinter usually made the first turtle to fail (which was usually Mikey) do some sort of chore or additional exercise. The youngest brother was getting tired of cleaning the lair in various capacities. After searching for several agonizing minutes, Mikey finally found a small sewer pipe, just large enough for him to duck into. He slipped inside.

"Move it, Mikey, this is my spot! Get your own," hissed Donatello in his ear. Mikey let out a sharp yelp, which was cut off by Donny clamping his hand over his younger brother's mouth. "You're gonna get us both caught! Get outta here."

With some urging, Mikey sighed, quickly exiting the pipe and venturing further into the sewer system. He hadn't been this far into the sewers since before he could remember, and as the walls and tunnels began to grow more and more unfamiliar, Mikey felt his nerves growing too. He needed a place to hide, fast. Surely, Master Splinter was already on the prowl, moving like a ghost of a rat, completely stealthy and waiting to make the young ninja clean out the refrigerator. This in mind, Mikey forged ahead into the deep and unwelcoming darkness that awaited him.

It only took a few minutes for Michelangelo to find his spot. At the end of a tunnel, he found what looked like a pit of some kind, a vast black maw that stretched downward so that Mikey saw no bottom to it. Water trickled in the drain to his right, and slowly poured down into the hole that Mikey now stood at the lip of. The turtle gulped. He wasn't afraid of heights, no good ninja could be, but huge, dark holes? Maybe he was a little scared of those. He shook his head. He needed to find somewhere to hide. He searched the circular chamber that housed the huge hole, his green eyes scanning it top to bottom.

The hole dominated the center of the chamber, with a small lip of cement wrapped around it, just barely wide enough to be walked on. The walls were brick, and only went a few inches above Mikey's head before ending abruptly in a solid cement ceiling. A particularly tall person would have needed to duck in order to fit. Finally, Mikey spotted what he needed: on the far side of the pit was a ladder, leading down into the depths. The turtle took a deep, calming breath, trying to use the meditation techniques he had been taught.

"Aw man, I wish I had my board right about now," he muttered, before giving up on the matter entirely. He shook his head, hopping from foot to foot lightly. "You got this, Mikey. You're a ninja, man, just do what ninjas do."

With that, he started forward, inching carefully along the small cement lip, his shell scraping along the wall as he clung to it, his heart pounding. He continued to whisper, attempting to inspire confidence in himself as he gulped back fear. It wasn't until he had reached the other side that he stopped and heaved a sigh of relief.

"See, Mikey, nothin' to it," he said, as he began to descend the ladder. Once he was a few feet down, he stopped and stayed perfectly still. To anybody entering the chamber, it would be very difficult to see him clinging to the ladder, partway down into the massive pit. To anyone outside of the chamber, it would by practically impossible. "Michelangelo, you are a genius."

Then, just as the last syllable left his mouth, he heard it. A sound like nothing he had ever heard before. At first, he almost mistook it for raindrops hitting the sidewalk above. He soon dismissed this idea: the sound was too alien for that. He focused intently, taking in the sound and analyzing it. What the heck was it? A thousand little… drops? No. Something else, something small, all hitting the cement within a second of each other, over and over. It was growing closer. Mikey swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry, as he discovered the direction that the sound was coming from.

It was coming from the bottom of the pit.


End file.
